


Kintsugi

by BlueMoonHound, Capitola



Series: hide and seek [3]
Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Chair Sex, F/M, Getting interrupted, Mentions of Violence, Penis In Vagina Sex, Scars, past trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-28
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-05-30 01:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15086267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMoonHound/pseuds/BlueMoonHound, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Capitola/pseuds/Capitola
Summary: Lucretia went a hundred years without accumulating any scars, but a decade on this plane has left her with many. Kravitz asks her to tell him about them.





	Kintsugi

Kravitz is punctual, as always, and Lucretia reflects that it is nice that even if she has to schedule her sex life down to the minute like everything else, there is someone who respects that. She’s sitting at her desk, finishing up a last piece of paperwork and then hastily storing it away as Kravitz banishes his scythe and puts his jacket over the back of the guest chair.

“You have a new waistcoat,” she notes, closing the desk drawer. 

Kravitz glances down. “Oh, yes. I took some inspiration from a recent job for this one.”

“It looks good on you.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you have anything in mind tonight?” Lucretia asks. They’ve had a few meetings now, but Kravitz still seems to settle on a few specific activities unless she prompts him to say what he’s thinking. 

Kravitz carefully adjusts the lapel of his jacket. “I do have a question.”

“Go on.”

“You have…. Scars.”

“I do. That’s not a question.”

He picks at a thread which is decidedly not loose. “I-, hm. May I ask where you got them?”

Lucretia laughs. “I didn't get them all in the same place, Kravitz.”

“May I…. May I look at them?”

Lucretia frowns, considering. He has seen her fairly naked before. He's seen her body long enough to recognize she has scars. She doesn't have any reason to be afraid of showing her scars to Kravitz, but at the same time, it feels…. Different, capital “D” to show them explicitly for the purpose of him looking at them.

At the same time, though.

Kravitz is the closest thing she’s had to a confidant, despite their arrangement, since Maureen died. Telling Maureen as much as she did had been a mistake, but Kravitz, well. Kravitz can’t die, and Kravitz’s mind won’t be broken by the voidfish. Not that it matters. This is just her body, just the marks on it. Besides, most of the scars she's ever received were erased with the reset of each cycle. These are just the ones she's gotten here.  Nothing on her physical form could be mind-shattering to anyone involved. 

“Alright,” Lucretia says, getting up from her desk and leaving her staff behind it. She unties her robe and drapes it over the back of her chair before walking around her desk to face him. “There’s no reason to be nervous,” She adds, because Kravitz is still fiddling with the hem of his lapel and waiting. 

She's wearing a knee length, fitted dress, sleeves down to her wrists. Her socks are tall enough to disappear underneath it. It shows no more nor less of her body than the robe itself did, as an outfit. She's aware of this, she can see it in Kravitz's face. He moves to stand before her, looking her up and down.

He has seen her scars before. Not all of them, but some of the bigger ones. She was wearing a sleeveless button down when she last took clothing off for him. Thigh high socks don't really cover the burns on her outer thighs. The sleeveless shirt certainly didn't hide the scars along her arms and the burn on her left shoulder. He hasn't seen the gruesome scar which rolls over her collarbone, though, or her feet.

“How do I take this off?” Kravitz asks.

“There's a zipper in the back,” Lucretia says.

She stands perfectly still as he unclips the clasp at the top, unzips the dress, and pushes it away from her shoulders, revealing her brown and white lace bra. And her scars. 

She winces when he runs a finger down the indent in her collarbone, the skin there improperly healed. She can't really feel the sensation, logically, because the nerves there are dead, but the pressure gives her phantom pain.

Kravitz takes his hand away. “Does that hurt?”

“No,” Lucretia lies.

He traces the frayed edges of the old wound again. “Where did you get this?”

“In, uhm.” She tries to say Wonderland, and fails. She's pretty sure the two – beings – in control of that place put a curse on her at some point, because she's never been able to talk about it. She licks her lips and tries again. “I was fighting a bugbear.”

“Why were you fighting a bugbear?”

“That's a long story.”

“We have two hours.”

Lucretia's gut turns over. “Kravitz,” she says, trying to sound stern and coming out meek. “I don't want to talk about it.”  _ I can’t talk about it _ . 

His hand moves lower, to the clasp on her bra There's an indent there, too, though not as severe of one as the mark over her shoulder. Lucretia doesn't think about that scar very much, because it's on her back, and it's not like she sees it in the mirror every day. Unlike some others.

“What's this one from?”

“Flesh eating snails.”

Kravitz snorts. “You really do get up to some nasty business, don't you?”

“Used to, then I got an office job. It's much nicer here.”

Kravitz hums, sliding the sleeves of her dress down and exposing her arms. He runs a hand over the burn mark on her shoulder. “I've seen this one before.” His hand trails down her arm. “And these.”

“The burn is from a fight with a warlock,” Lucretia says. “I was trying to get my staff back. And this scar--” She points to her inner right bicep “--Is from the same fight. And these.” She details a few more on her left arm.

“Sounds like a rough fight.”

“Wasn't nearly as hard as the fight which involved a bugbear and flesh-eating snails.”

“That was the same fight?”

“Yes.”

“Holy gods, Lucretia, what in the world did you get up to?”

“It's-- I can't explain. I would if I could, I promise. I didn't make it out of that one entirely in one piece.”

Kravitz turns her around, face paling. “Are you okay?”

“I lost my age in that battle, too, Kravitz. And, ah.” She kicks off her shoes. “A few toes.”

“Toes.”

“Yes.”

“Hm.”

Kravitz’s contemplative pause stretches out a moment too long, face etched with concern. 

“Can we go back to the comic explanations of what my scars are from?”

Kravitz turns his attention back to her body and runs a finger along a scar on her belly. She jerks again, this time more out of surprise than in pain. He takes it back again. “Sorry.”

“No, you're fine. I can't actually remember where I got that one. It's old.”

She was sparring with Lup. She doesn't want to think about it.  It had been a much deeper wound, and Merle is only so much of a healer when he's stressed and afraid. Lup had felt so guilty, even though it was just an accident. Her self-deprecating jokes are - were - sometimes hard to bear.  It's… fine the way it is. Lup is gone. Merle is even less of a healer now than he ever was with his memories.

Lucretia remembers that Maureen made this dress. It hides her scars without looking like that's its purpose.

She misses Maureen.

“The bugbear scar is very long,” Kravitz says, hovering his finger over it. He doesn't touch it again, though, which Lucretia appreciates. It runs down from her left shoulder to her right breast, tapering as it goes.

Kravitz pushes her dress down over her hips, and she steps out of it and kicks it aside without question. He runs his hands over her slip, kneeling in front of her. “May I take this off?”

“Of course,” Lucretia says.

He unties the waistband and it is kicked aside with the same attention as the dress.

“Oh,” Kravitz says, seeing her panties. They match her bra. She's wearing a matching garter belt, too, holding up her dark purple thigh highs. “Oh, this is very pretty.”

“Thank you,” Lucretia smiles.

He runs his hands over the outsides of her thighs, over the dual – though not matching – burn scars there. One is an acid burn in the shape of a splash mark, the other a fire burn from a falling building. It matches up, more or less, with a burn on the back of her arm, which is from the same moment. Kravitz unclips her garters and pushes her socks down so he can see the whole thing.

“Falling building,” Lucretia details. “And the one on the left is more recent. Lucas – someone I work with – let an experiment get away from him. A few others involved required more immediate clerical attention than I did, so I told my subordinates to leave it be.”

Kravitz has moved on. “Did you lose weight?” he asks, running a finger over a thick stretch mark that's been there since her teens.

“I have,” she says, “lost a lot of weight.”

He frowns.

A little worm of worry develops in Lucretia's stomach.

Kravitz pushes Lucretia down into the guest chair and reaches to remove her socks. She lets him, then lets him take off her garter belt, so she's sitting in just her underwear. He looks at the callouses where her toes used to be with a mix of curiosity and worry that doesn't look wonderful on his face. She tweaks his nose with her big toe.

“Are we still going to have sex today, dead guy?”

“Oh,” Kravitz clears his throat. “That was what I was hoping for.”

“Where do you want me?”

“You're good there,” Kravitz says. “I'd like to - to fuck you. In the usual fashion. Not necessarily our usual fashion but, um.”

“Anything you want.”

“Alright.”

He stands up and begins to undress. Lucretia’s thoughts wander as he slips a gold-plated button through a buttonhole, remembering when a crew of bureau members opted to consult her about every single detail of the uniforms she had asked them to design. It had taken an actual staff meeting to convince them that no, they’re not required to get her approval for everything they do. 

Kravitz removes his waistcoat, bending down to untie his shoes. 

They told her they were just being cautious, no harm meant, Madam Director, Ma’am. All very formal. What do they think she’d do to them, anyway? How powerful do they think she is? She chews at her lip, wondering about the figure she strikes on her dais holding her staff. Does she look like a queen or something? She’s just another human being, not special in any specific way. Well, maybe a little special. But in the long run, that’s unimportant, right?

Kravitz is taking off his shirt, now. His abdominal muscles flex for just a moment. 

They acted like she would smite them if they dared to step out of line. She doesn’t do that. She’s never killed a single --

Wait. No, nevermind, she does that. Fuck. Fuck, shit, okay, that whole debacle makes a little more sense from a slightly alternative perspective. Rotate the object, Lucretia. Kravitz slides his slacks down his legs. Is her quiet, powerful front really strong enough to convince people that a punishment inflicted on those who do the greatest wrong could also come down on their own heads over  _ uniforms _ ?

Kravitz has finished undressing. Lucretia blinks out of thought. 

He leans forward and kisses her, his lips cool against hers. Lucretia sighs as he runs his cold fingers up her back, pain she hadn't noticed easing as they go.

He unclasps her bra, pulling the straps off her shoulders. He leans back to cup her breasts in his hands and then stops.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“Your…. Is your son a half-elf?”

“Yes?”

Kravitz lifts her right breast carefully, running a thumb over the scars around her nipple.  Elves need to drink blood to fill out their magic and their energy on occasion, and  Lucretia had learned the hard way that elven babies are just as bloodthirsty as their adult counterparts -- and quite a lot less polite about it. 

“I wasn't expecting to find more scars when I took your bra off.”

“I'm full of surprises.”

Kravitz kisses her again, gently. His lips are warmer now, and still soft. His fingers find the waistband of her panties, and then he pauses. “I'm not going to find any more scars, right?”

She laughs and rolls her eyes. “I think you’re familiar enough with the rest of me to know the answer to that.”

He chuckles and slides her underwear off. He removes his own, too, kicking the clothing aside, and then hoists her into his lap. It turns out to be a really good position, because her back is still against the back of the chair.

“Chair sex, huh?”

“Well, we missed out last time we tried, didn't we? Only if you're up for it.”

“Yes, I'm doing much better today.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Kravitz pushes her back against the back of the chair and kisses her much harder this time. Their teeth click together. Lucretia ruts against his stiffening cock, heat building in her groin. It's been a long thirty minutes, just thinking about her past, and she wouldn't mind a little good, old-fashioned stress relief. 

Lucretia sucks at Kravitz's jawbone and rubs her slick up and down his shaft. He grips at her back, rutting up into her until she finally caves and sinks down onto his length. He's still a little chilly, but she doubts he'll ever get much warmer than this without aid, and besides, she tells herself, these meetups are for his pleasure, not hers. Her legs strain as she tries her hardest to bounce in his lap.

Gods, she used to be so much more fit. She was just, overall healthier, back before Wonderland, and before she lost all this weight. She's not worthwhile for much beyond her brain in the state she's in now.

Kravitz's hand runs down the curve of her back and pushes her upright, his other hand under her ass, holding her. He kisses the deep scar on her collarbone and guides her on his cock, giving her legs a break from the effort.  He's much stronger than he looks, yet another reminder that this is no ordinary man she's carrying on with.

“You okay?” He whispers.

“Yes, I'm fine.”

He lets go of her ass and continues to kiss her neck. She loses track of where his other hand went, distracted by the sensation of his cock against her walls and his tongue dragging its way down her neck. At least, she loses track of it until it reappears in her pubic hair, roving downwards. Long, now-warm fingers find her clit and she tenses, forcing herself to move against Kravitz through the electric feeling washing over her body.

She moves more eagerly against him, angling so his dick hits that sweet spot inside of her over and over, tensing up as she comes, gasping. This time, it's easier to keep moving through her orgasm, to keep going through the overstimulation. She leans back and ravenously kisses Kravitz on the mouth, sucking at his lips and tongue until she feels him gasp on a breath himself, tipping over the edge. She rolls her hips gently against his pelvis til he puts a hand on her chest to stop her.

Lucretia climbs off Kravitz and whispers “Prestidigitate,” cleaning the mess off her thighs. She sits herself down across his legs.

Kravitz runs a hand up and down her back.

“So, when would you like to do this again?” Lucretia asks.

“I--”

They're interrupted.

Lucretia doesn't lock the door to her back rooms, because half the time Davenport doesn't know how to open a door, and the other half, he knows how to unlock a door, especially since the doors to her back rooms are designed to keep people out, not in. Today, it seems, he's not far enough gone to have forgotten how to use doorknobs.

“Davenport?” He stares at Kravitz and Lucretia from the doorway. Both naked, Kravitz sitting backwards in a chair, pressed up against each other.

Lucretia leaps to her feet. “It's okay, he's seen me naked before,” she rambles hurriedly, looking for her robe.

Davenport takes a step farther into the room. “Davenport??”

Kravitz frowns. “Is that--”

“His name is Davenport,” Lucretia says. She pulls her robe on, tying it rather hastily.

“That's Davenport???”

“Is there something you needed?” She asks the gnome.

“Davenport,” he says, brow furrowed. He looks back and forth between Kravitz and Lucretia.

“Yes, we are.”

“Davenport.”

“It's a long story.”

“Davenport??”

She shifts on her feet. “I'll warn you next time.”

“Davenport.”

“This is the man who has _ died three times _ , right?” Kravitz hisses behind her. He sounds flabbergasted. “It's not a different Davenport, right???”

Lucretia winces, memory stinging like an open wound. “Yes,” she says, her voice heavy with regret.

She looks back at Davenport. “I can't explain this to you, it'll give you a headache.”

Davenport slumps a little. “Okay.” He disappears back through the door, shutting it behind him.

“So he  _ can _ say more than his own name!”

“Not often.”

“Was he – cursed, or something?”

“No, well. Not-- well, Kravitz, I… I made a mistake, and he paid dearly.”

“It didn't happen in the fight with the slugs and the bugbear, did it?”

Lucretia laughs. “No.”

Kravitz starts redressing manually. Taking that as a cue, Lucretia removes her robe again and starts pulling on her underclothes. “So what about you?”

“What about me?”

“You have a few scars, right?”

“There’s not much to show you,” he says. “I lead a less interesting life.”

“I don’t know that it would seem less interesting to me.”

Kravitz smiles. “Well.” He folds back his sleeve a little. “These are from the strings of various instruments. Don’t ask me to remember all of them, I played a lot of instruments. Scars happened.”

“I didn’t know,” Lucretia says. She almost asks him to play for her, but stops. She doesn’t think she’s important enough in Kravitz’s life to justify that sort of offer. 

“I have a couple of scars from falling out of trees and other forms of childhood roughhousing, on my back and arms.” He gestures, but doesn’t remove his shirt. 

He pauses for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck, then pulls on his pants. Lucretia waits. He frowns before speaking again. 

“And, here.” Kravitz unbuttons his shirt a little. “This is from when I died. They slit my throat.” He touches the thin pale line with two fingers. “It was quick.”

"They?"   


"The people who killed me," Kravitz clarifies unhelpfully. There's a tone of finality in his voice which tells Lucretia to drop it.

“That sounds like a pretty interesting life to me,” Lucretia says. 

“If you say so.”

“Will you be available Thursday? I might be able to set aside  _ four  _ hours.”

“I can double check. I’ll call you.”

Lucretia watches him rift away. 

She finishes zipping up her dress with a sigh, sliding her arms back into her robe. She fishes a few more papers out of her desk, clips a pen to the small stack of paper, and heads into her back rooms. Sure enough, Davenport is waiting for her in the kitchen, sitting on a high stool. His ears flick up when he recognizes her. 

“Davenport.”

“Hello. Would you like some tea?”

“Mmdavenport.”

She puts on the kettle and gets two mugs down from a tall shelf. Davenport watches her with a faraway expression on his face, nothing like the captain and leader he used to be. His tail wags a little as she slides his tea across the table to him. He was acting so lucid earlier, but she guesses trying to piece together the details of the scene he had walked in on took that from him. 

"I'm sorry." She used to say that to him more, practically punctuating every sentence with it. Now it's only on occasion.

He sighs. "Davenport," he says, shrugging. And they sit with their tea, and their scars, and Lucretia thinks of how glad she will be when this is over.

**Author's Note:**

> ahhhhhh my first work in the series!! well, my first official work, since I've helped with WTMC already, but... Details.  
> Hello!! I'm tuna and I'm working on this project now :p


End file.
